These champions would not budge yet.

Away from them their staves they threw, Their cruel swords they quickly drew, And freshly they the fight renew, They every stroke redoubled: Which made Prosérpina take heed, And make to them the greater speed, For fear lest they too much should bleed, Which wondrously her troubled.

When to th’ infernal Styx she goes, She takes the fogs from thence that rose, And [114] in a bag doth them enclose:  When well she had them blended, She hies her then to Lethe spring, A bottle and thereof doth bring, Wherewith she meant to work the thing Which only she intended.

Now Proserpine with Mab is gone, Unto the place where Oberon And proud Pigwiggin, one to one, Both to be slain were likely: And there themselves they closely hide, Because they would not be espied; For Proserpine meant to decide The matter very quickly.

And suddenly unties the poke, Which out of it sent such a smoke, As ready was them all to choke, So grievous was the pother; So that the knights each other lost, And stood as still as any post; Tom Thumb nor Tomalin could boast Themselves of any other.

But when the mist ’gan somewhat cease, Prosérpina commandeth peace; And that a while they should release Each other of their peril: “Which here,” quoth she, “I do proclaim To all in dreadful Pluto’s name, That as ye will eschew his blame, You let me bear the quarrel:

“But here yourselves you must engage, Somewhat to cool your spleenish rage; Your grievous thirst and to assuage That first you drink this liquor, Which shall your understanding clear, As plainly shall to you appear; Those things from me that you shall hear, Conceiving much the quicker.”

This Lethe water, you must know, The memory destroyeth so, That of our weal, or of our woe, Is all remembrance blotted; Of it nor can you ever think, For they no sooner took this drink, But nought into their brains could sink Of what had them besotted.

King Oberon forgotten had, That he for jealousy ran mad, But of his Queen was wondrous glad, And asked how they came thither: Pigwiggin likewise doth forget That he Queen Mab had ever met; Or that they were so hard beset, When they were found together.

Nor neither of them both had thought, That e’er they each had other sought, Much less that they a combat fought, But such a dream were lothing. Tom Thumb had got a little sup, And Tomalin scarce kissed the cup, Yet had their 

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